imperfect

It's the strangest thing sometimes, blogging. Because we tend to macro focus on the marvellous and edit out the imperfect. This isn't because I'm pretending my life is perfect, for heavens sake, my sisters both read this blog! How long d'ya reckon I'd get away with that?

It's more about what I feel like writing about at the end of the day and what I want to remember. And also what you want to read.

So rather than write about the rushed day of a meeting I was late for and then had to breastfeed in, about taking Henry out of school early to go to his weekly speech therapy appointment, the lovely cauliflower soup I cooked for dinner that the kids didn't like; well I'd much rather tell you the story of dropping one of Ivy's wee shoes in the rush to get to the meeting and the lovely, lovely woman who passed me in one direction, found it right down the street and bought it all the way back to me. Or about the whispered "I love you guys, I love you" video message Henry left on my iPhone.

All of it happened today. But only some of it would tend to appear here.

Am I guilty of presenting the perfect and burying the imperfect? Of course I am. I only blog a fraction of the story, I'm sure you know that! And I want to to spend that precious hour after the kids are in bed before I start doing something else, cherishing the nice bits.

For example the old dude in the lift on the way up to speech therapy today who asked Henry how old he was then proceeded to recite this poem to him: (speech therapy is on level 7!)

When I was one I had just begun

When I was two I was nearly new

When I was three I was hardly me

When I was four I was not much more

When I was five I was just alive

But now I am six I'm as clever as clever

So I think I'll be six now forever and ever.

(A.A.Milne)

That was a cool moment.

So, the view from here.

I might be guilty of posting a photo like this. Making some joke about the imperfection of the activity as only three jars does not make a chromatic scale. Or even a pentatonic one. Haha.

Oh look. There's not a small amount of washing on the end of that dining table. If you look closely, there's a bathmat halfway down the left hand pile that used to be a nice grey, now mottled pink. Not even sure what the offending red item in the load was.

Oh and look…

She hasn't even finished folding the washing. And if she adds that to the piles on the table they'll probably topple over. That wall's pretty grubby.

Oh, and look…

The baby's crying.

And..

Something's gone horribly wrong with the wholesome musical activity.

Oops.

But you know what?

It's all about choice.

Choose how you react. Choose how you remember.

Henry told me tonight that in his workbook at school, where they wrote today what they did on the weekend, of all the fun, family-oriented, thought-out activities he did, he wrote "On the weekend I went to MacDonalds and had an icecream."

Right. Perfect.

xxx

20 Comments on “imperfect”

What a great post! I love your perspective on things and I totally agree about how things can appear so perfect when we show a 6×4 snapshot of one event that maybe went okay for 4 minutes but was surrounded by a days worth of near-misses and woopsies. I’m a big fan of what DOESN’T make it onto mine or anyone else’s blog, that’s where real life happens! Rock on girl!!

sarah

September 21, 2010 at 10:29 pm

Hey Fi! As great as it is to always read your wonderful stories – it is so nice to read about the not always perfect times. Makes me feel so much more normal!! By the way, I am envious of your tiny washing pile on the table…mine is a whole queen size bed full of folded clothes that never seem to make their way into the cupboards!!

Sue

sweet! life is a little of this and a little of that. after spreading myself thin this morning to my toddler daughter (who’s not so keen on sharing btw) and 9 other preschoolers, I feel like my world is full of imperfections. alas, moments come and moments go. tomorrow will be better, right?

the aa milne poem is one of my faves. cool to be a little boy in an elevator having it recited to you.

Sal

bennoss

September 22, 2010 at 9:40 am

well said fi.
i have to admit, when i read your blogs i sometimes feel a small sting of jelousy. seeing all those delicious meals and fantastic crafts i want you to be MY mum!
good to know you are are human too 😉

Thanks for that link Nichole, that was a lovely read. I know, I have always loved AA Milne too. At the first line I knew where the old dude was going, his wife was with him and corrected him once, Henry was fascinated. It was very cool.

Hi, I’ve popped across for the imperfection. I loved reading this, so beautifully said. I can’t wait for my oldest to turn 6 in October so I can teach him that poem. I learnt it when I was 6… so long ago.